Of All My Demon Spirits I Need You the Most
by androgenius
Summary: After Rachel receives some unexpected, horrible news, she's not sure she'll ever recover. Rated M for character death/smut in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_... okay. I suggest you read this a) next to a box of tissues, and b) in private. I will not be held responsible for any emotional damage accrued from this story. ... please no one hate me for writing this? _

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><p>The news comes to her on a Wednesday night. It's Shelby who calls her to let her know what's happened, and she stares numbly at the phone for an hour even after she hangs up.<p>

She can't cry, can't even summon up the decency to feel numb.

"But... I don't understand," she'd muttered hopelessly, as if waiting to wake up from the dream she'd been so viciously and wrongly thrust into.

"I'm not sure that's..." She'd heard Shelby sigh, and it occurred to her that maybe she'd had to tell other people, too, not just her. "There's nothing to understand, Rachel. Car accidents... happen to people every day."

"But..."

"Maybe... this is something you'd like to talk to Ms. Pillsbury about. I'm afraid I'm not terribly good with this kind of support."

Rachel had nodded through the sound of Beth crying on the other end of the line despite knowing fully well that Shelby couldn't see her on the other line, a lump that felt like the size of a tennis ball lodged in her throat.

Now that she's been sitting on her bed for an hour, staring at her comforter for answers, she doesn't feel any wiser, any more ready to face the world than before she started.

A part of her wonders whether she even has any right to mourn over this. She chose Finn, her traitorous thoughts remind her, and she bites her lip, staring at her phone as she swallows. She chose Finn, not Jesse. He wasn't even hers to worry about anymore. Well— hadn't been.

It makes sense, then, why Shelby had been so utterly blindsided by Rachel's protest of the news. That's all it was supposed to be— news. A courteous acknowledgment that she'd once upon a time been a part of his life.

It's a miracle she even deserved that damn phone call with the way she'd treated him.

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><p>It's later on, under the spray of her shower head, that the news seems to seep through her skin and into her bones, the first tears she doesn't deserve to shed leaking out over her cheeks.<p>

It _hurts_, and she can't say she's completely sure why.

He's not— _wasn't_— her boyfriend, she reminds herself as trembling fingers squirt shampoo onto her fingers. She didn't want him. She wanted Finn.

If she had chosen him, would he have been on I-76 that night? Or would he have been cuddled up on the couch downstairs to watch the Barbra marathon with her?

The first sobs that leave her ache in her chest like nothing ever before, and for a moment she isn't sure she hasn't forgotten how to breathe.

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><p>Facebook, it turns out, is yet a greater traitor than even her mind, and she blindly wipes away tears with her towel as her hair drips onto her chair, the event invitation making her chest feel tighter than it should have.<p>

Andrea Cohen, the girl she remembers to have been part of Vocal Adrenaline, supposedly... Jesse's _friend_, inviting her to attend the funeral.

The goddamn _funeral_.

Rachel's only been to one funeral in her whole life, that of the grandfather she'd hardly even known at the time of his passing, excited only about the prospect of getting to wear a very pretty black dress. She was eight, and quite immature about the whole thing.

Now it feels like a farce, trite to try and compare the weight of _this_ with any one damn thing, no matter how impersonal it feels to be invited to someone's funeral over facebook, of all damn places.

Taking in a shaky breath as she feels fresh tears leak out onto her cheeks, Rachel presses the button to accept the invitation, trying to ignore the stupid surge of jealousy at the thought that it's this Andrea girl that had the honor of setting up this event, of inviting everyone. Had she been closer to him than Rachel? Had she been his girlfriend, there to replace Rachel when she had turned him down?

Clicking the little red notification button on the top left of her screen, she stops, her eyes going wide for a moment as she sees Jesse's name, something about his posting on her wall...

It's not a miracle, of course. It was posted yesterday afternoon, presumably over lunch while he wasn't teaching, and her stomach starts to tremble even before fresh tears spill out onto her cheeks, fighting to hold them back and ultimately failing.

_Coaching these kids makes me miss seeing your beautiful smile in that sea of Broadway hopefuls even more. No one even compares to you, you know._

Squeezing her eyes shut, Rachel slams her laptop screen closed without another word.

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><p>"Rachel? Are you okay? You haven't seemed like yourself all day."<p>

It's almost as if the day has been just passing her by without her acknowledgment of it. Walking through the halls from classroom to classroom feels monotonous, and she's going more on motor memory than anything else as she sits, numb, unable to focus on anything. She doesn't raise her hand, doesn't speak to anyone, thankful when no one vital tries for her attention.

"I'm fine," she swallows the lie quietly, perversely aware of Finn's arm around the back of her chair.

For a brief moment, she wonders why Shelby wouldn't have told him, before it hits her again that Jesse isn't actually hers to mourn, that she's just being stupidly selfish over a boy she's never done anything to deserve.

"Rachel, I was just asking who wanted to audition for the solo at Sectionals."

Their concern is justified. Under normal conditions, Rachel would be jumping up and down in anticipation and excitement over the opportunity to sing a solo at Sectionals, but right now, all she feels is stubborn numbness seeping into her bones as she swallows hard, ducking her head.

"I think Kurt would perform an amazing solo."

A part of her revels in the hushed murmurs that pass through the choir room, Mr. Schuester telling them to settle down as he stares at her in obvious confusion.

"Rachel, are you sure?"

"Oh, sure, Rachel finally comes to her senses and lets someone else have a chance for once, and suddenly we have to go make sure if she doesn't want to change her mind," Kurt mocks, Rachel feeling herself tear up again.

"Kurt, I think you're forgetting what New Directions is all about. This is about community, about being there for one another. And when someone isn't acting like themselves, then we need to be there for them. This isn't about you getting the solo!"

"Thank you, Mr. Schuester," Rachel shakes her head, "but I really don't think I want to talk about it."

She's up out of her seat and out the door before anyone can say anything else. It doesn't even qualify as a storm out— there's no anger in her gait, not even any real determination as she runs blindly to the girl's bathroom, praying that no one follows after her as she locks one of the stall doors behind her.

No such luck.

"Berry, what the hell? That wasn't even a proper storm out. What's gotten into you?"

"You're not supposed to be in here, Noah," Rachel sniffles, blowing her nose on one of the coarse, one-ply toilet paper pieces in the school bathrooms.

"That doesn't work on me, remember? Now what the hell is going on? I've never seen you act like that."

"Please don't make me come out." She takes a slow, shaky breath, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "Why are you even here?"

"Finn sent me."

"Bullshit." It's a lie; she's known Noah Puckerman for long enough to know when he's lying. Moreover, Finn wouldn't think twice to ask Puck to go check on her. Jesse would have— but then again, her mind corrects her, Jesse wouldn't have bothered sending Puck in the first place. He would have gone to find her himself.

_Jesse_.

"Okay, fine, so I came of my own accord. It's not that weird. Us Jews, we need to stick together, you know."

"If I tell you, will you please leave and stop asking me about it?"

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><p>"What the hell <em>was<em> that, Rachel?" Finn finally asks her half an hour later when she leaves the bathroom for a ride home, tossing her bag into the backseat of his car.

"I don't... really want to talk about it, Finn. I'm sorry."

"What, so it's okay to tell Puck, but _I_ don't get to find out?"

"Wait, did he _tell you_?" That's impossible, Rachel suddenly scrambling for some kind of footing on the uneven ground the sudden flash of panic has to offer. It's like an unexpected rollercoaster takes her by storm, more emotions than she's felt all day making the tumult in her chest visceral, leaving her throat tight and her heart aching. _Can't do this. Can't survive this_.

"Wha— no! That's not the point!" The relief is just as vivid in her chest as the panic, but the supposedly predictable, healing sensation through her limbs never comes, replaced instead by the same numbing feeling Jesse has provoked in her all day. "I'm your goddamn boyfriend, Rachel! You _never_ act like this. Why the hell does he get to know, and not me?"

_Boyfriend_. The word feels more oppressive than ever.

"There isn't anything you can do to fix this, Finn."

"Just— let me help." He offers an exasperated sigh, ineffective in its attempt to make her feel bad.

It's not that Finn is a _bad_ boyfriend by any stretch of the imagination. He's actually a very good boyfriend, understanding, caring, kind. He knows he'll always be second to the stage, to Broadway, to her dreams, and he knows to respect that.

What he shouldn't have to respect is the fact that he's now second to Jesse, too, his memory more guilt-inducing than any of Finn's words could ever possibly hope to be.

Finn is everything she's ever wanted and can't appreciate anymore now that she has him.

"I-I'm sorry, Finn. You can't."

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><p>Mr. Schuester, nosy as ever, finds out by the next day from god-only-knows-where, pulling her aside at the beginning of glee to remind her of the support readily available from everyone in the group, Rachel just nodding numbly before going to take a seat, dutifully present, but not really there at all. At the very least, Puck knows how to keep his mouth shut, even if he throws her more than just the occasional glance out of the corner of his eye throughout the lesson.<p>

It's that Friday that she's called into Ms. Pillsbury's office.

It doesn't come to her as a great surprise, really. Whatever Mr. Schuester gets his hands on automatically reaches Ms. Pillsbury, so it was only a matter of time before she was called in for counseling.

"Okay, well... what is it that you'd like to talk about, Rachel?"

Ms. Pillsbury has a terribly annoying tick with her hands, always wringing them as though she's made to feel anxious by every single person she happens across. It's horribly distracting, but at least Rachel's thoughts aren't completely preoccupied by Jesse as she stares at the other woman's anxiety disorder, blinking up at her only after a second call to attention.

"I'm... not sure that I really want to talk about it." Letting her gaze fall into her lap, Rachel squeezes her eyes shut, thoughts of Jesse everywhere.

The noise in the back of Ms. Pillsbury's throat, as though to remind Rachel that her answer is predictable in this sort of situation, only serves to make her resent the woman more, pressing her lips together as she stares at her hands.

It's strange, thinking about how _real_ she feels, how much more alive than Jesse gets to now. It's not fair, the sharp relief of her fingers against the wood grain of the desk making bile rise in her throat just in time for a few pamphlets to be pushed her way across the desk as Ms. Pillsbury adjusts the angle of one of her pens, slow, deliberate.

_What to do when you lose a loved one. _

_Living in fear of death. _

_I can't stop thinking about the goldfish I flushed down the toilet._

"I-I'm sorry, I'm not sure this... is really appropriate."

"Well, you should look them over. It might not be such a bad idea for you, Rachel. According to Mr. Schuester," —_predictable_— "you've lost interest in the things you loved the most before all this happened. Singing. Attention. It might do you well to acknowledge that you need help."

"I'm not..." she shakes her head, gaze fixed on the slight crack in the leather upholstery of the chair beside her. "My dads have a therapist on call if they decide I really need one, but... I think I'm okay."

It's a lie. She couldn't be further from okay if she tried, the knot in her throat as oppressive as ever as she strains to look anywhere _but_ directly at Ms. Pillsbury's beady button eyes, too big and imploring for their own good, as though she never passed through puberty and realized that it was time to start looking like an adult.

"I think you need help, Rachel. I can't... pressure you into that, but I really hope you'll at least look through the pamphlets."

Unceremoniously stuffing them into the side pocket of her backpack, Rachel nods somewhat stiffly, hoping she'll drop the subject now that she's accepted her _educational materials_ under her rather reluctant wing.

"I'll be sure to do that, Ms. Pillsbury, thank you. For, um. Everything."

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><p>The pamphlets prove to be wholly ineffectual, not that Rachel was expecting any differently. Still, there was one small morsel of good advice that Rachel decides is worth considering, which is why she's now in the basement, rifling through boxes upon boxes to find one particular one.<p>

She wasn't lying when she told Jesse that it looks rather like a shrine of her childhood down here, but there are just a couple of boxes for which Rachel had been entirely responsible. There's a box for Finn, for Kurt, and of course for Jesse. People who impacted her life significantly, made her hurt or laugh or cry or love more than the others. She keeps the boxes all the same, so one of them doesn't feel ultimately inferior because of size discrepancies, as though one of them somehow made a bigger impact than the other, which is a lie.

It's just a _different _impact, and now as she peels down Jesse's box from the top shelf, staggering slightly as she tries to catch the brunt of the weight in her heels, his impact is making itself more known than she ever expected.

She's already crying by the time she lowers the box to the ground to open it, the sleeve of an old hoodie of his that he'd forgotten to take back peeking out of the box.

"_Jesse_."

She breathes the words more than she speaks them, worships them as she remembers, wiping purposelessly at her eyes as she tugs at the sleeve, her body collapsing back onto her heels as every last part of her threatens to sag completely.

It's the same dark blue Vocal Adrenaline hoodie he wore the day they funked them, the same hoodie that, less than one year later, he'd "accidentally" leave behind at her house after kissing her again, for the first time in forever, despite the fact that it was a downright balmy seventy degrees outside, and Rachel had worn a dress that day.

It's not fair.

Thinking about that kiss and that conversation and that whole day makes her wonder what would have happened if that kiss hadn't been the last, if she'd used it to demand another, and another, as though wishes could be multiplied if only she closed her eyes and squeezed them shut hard enough. If kissing him, if sharing one-thousand more kisses with him would have saved his life and kept him safe in her arms.

But one-thousand would have never been enough to save Jesse.

Rachel lifts up the dense cotton with trembling fingers, burrowing her face in it as she inhales him, all of him, this damn hoodie still smelling so much like Jesse that she hardly even realizes it when she's sobbing the next moment, clinging to it as she rocks back and forth, wishing she could just hold onto this one tiny piece, this one, minuscule fragment of all that he ever was hard enough to somehow _bring him back._

Eucalyptus and pine assault her senses as she closes her eyes. It's too easy to imagine him still there, his arms wrapped around her while she breathes him in, deep, her face buried in his front while he holds her as she cries.

All of her past problems— not getting a stupid solo, Finn not paying enough attention to her, not being prepared enough for Sectionals— they all pale in comparison to this. She feels petty, caring so much about things that ultimately mattered so little. Every word out of Jesse's mouth, every touch, every kiss, the way he always tucked her stray hairs behind her ears and held her. Everything feels stuck on replay in her head, as though _not_ remembering every second of him in her life would be a disservice to him.

The box is filled with fragments of Jesse.

A mixtape CD he made for her the night they were supposed to have sex, one of the many attempts to try and make it more special for her, only to accidentally forget it at his parents' house and ruefully deliver it to her the next day that he showed up at McKinley, unexpected as a Christmas present in July.

A letter littered with random facts about him, an honest attempt to prove to her that he wasn't just Jesse, the star of Vocal Adrenaline, but a real, honest-to-god human being with flaws, childhood memories, things loved and hated.

A card he'd sent her on her 17th birthday, a veritable prelude to his return if only she'd thought so deeply into the gesture at the time.

And pictures. Too many to count, too many to sort through, as though a life could be defined by pictures in the first place, like a stupid game of leap frog, jumping from moment to moment until nothing genuine is left but remnants on photo paper, scraps that remind us that we're real, that we have a past as much as a future, that we didn't make it all up in our heads, those moments we hurt, or loved, or cared more than we should have.

But it's not enough. Jesse doesn't fit into a box— he never had.

She briefly considers drowning herself later that night while taking a bath, watching two water droplets coalesce slowly into bigger drops on the side of the tub.

She keeps waiting for them to catch each other and come together, but they never do, and Rachel wonders if she'll ever be able to look at anything again and _not_ think about Jesse.


	2. Chapter 2

_Since apparently some of you didn't read my A/N last time... **PEOPLE, LISTEN**. Read this a) beside A LOT OF TISSUES at the ready, and b) IN PRIVATE! This chapter is... pretty bad. For those of you who asked and were confused, yes! This is a St. Berry story. The story is about Rachel dealing with Jesse's death. No other ships/storylines play into this! Thank you all for sticking with me - I know how painful this story can be, seeing as I wrote it and cried my way throughout writing most of it._

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><p>The funeral is that Sunday, and Rachel has half the mind not to even show her face, deliberately taking too long to pick out an appropriate black dress of hers that she's always known Jesse loved and Finn hated.<p>

But she makes it.

In the sea of cars in the parking lot at the funeral home, it's too easy to feel lost, alone, hopeless. Her first and only funeral had her dads guiding her, holding her hand and showing the way of what she's supposed to do, what's proper and honorable for the deceased.

But this feels different. Less like custom and more like she's tearing at her heartstrings to even try and fit her grief into this box of a funeral home that it's meant for, as though her heartache is strong enough to flood the whole place and drive everyone else out, leaving only her, broken and alone, with not even the comfort of a routine that begs her doing what's expected of her.

Jesse is so much more than these people, their stupid memories, and a casket. He's _so much more_, pictures littered all over her bedroom floor, each one making her cry harder than the next.

A slow exhale marks her entrance, and she feels as awkward as ever as she moves to find a seat in the back row, the minister having already begun his speech.

It doesn't _feel real_, and the realization hits her with a vengeance as she listens to the minister drone on about death and loved ones. It's not genuine, not about Jesse, not _really_. The people around her that are crying for him didn't know him, not the way that she knew him, a surge of jealousy flooding her chest.

It's not fair.

But even as she thinks it, Rachel knows she has no right to complain. She was the one who pushed him away when she was the only person he'd ever really opened up to. The one who'd turned him down and chosen Finn over him after he'd kissed her, respected her decision not to be distracted during Nationals, and shown up to watch her perform anyway.

Only to have his heart crushed when Finn kissed her on that damn stage.

In the end, she's just another one of the people who let him down. Disappointed him. Made him regret ever opening up to her, falling in love with her.

There are so many _should haves _floating through her mind as she stares down into her lap, hands clasped in supposed prayer for Jesse despite the fact that he was as devout an atheist as she can remember.

_Of course our children would be raised in the Jewish faith_, he'd laughed. _It's not like I care. But you do. And that's what matters._

The fact that she's tearing up at her own memories more than the words of the minister is too telling, and she wipes at her eyes with the back of her wrist, grateful that she'd decided to forego any makeup today, knowing that she'd be crying either way.

It feels a little bit like it's all she's been doing lately.

Her phone buzzes in her purse, and she flinches, knowing already that it must be her reminder that Finn's finally up now that it's noon.

Andrea Cohen is sitting in the front row, her head bowed, but not crying. Jesse would have never cried at a funeral, always so damn controlled and held back. Had he and Andrea been friends? Had Jesse even had friends at all?

It occurs to her how selfish she's been this whole time, thinking she was the only person that mattered to Jesse, who had made a real impact on his life. A lesson in modesty, apparently, learning how to be more humble and less assuming, presumptuous of her own place.

Everyone rises, Rachel staggering to her feet as she holds her breath, watching them get in line to say a last farewell to Jesse before heading back to the reception at his parents' house.

Her placement at the end of the line is deliberate, waiting patiently as the others pass by his coffin. She couldn't see him from the back, could only see the beautiful chestnut grain of the side of it, the lavish satin lining, everything Jesse grew up with and hated.

She wants to be the last one to say goodbye, a part of her knowing that she could never fit her words to him into the couple of seconds everyone else is offering, and she patiently waits her turn just to have enough time with him before she has to say goodbye.

A part of her knows that it's not the end, not really— there's still the reception, and the three hour drive back home from Akron, but actually getting to see him again...

Her nerves flutter anxiously in her stomach as her turn approaches, Rachel keeping her head bowed until the last second, not wanting to see him too soon, not wanting to burst into tears in the middle of the line.

And she was right. Seeing Jesse makes her lose it completely, a choked sob leading the way as the words spill out nigh incoherently for him.

"I-I never thought it was real. I think a part of me still didn't even wh-while I was sitting there and the coffin was right there in front of me. I saw just... a glimpse of you coming in, but—" Rachel sucks in a sharp breath as she holds her hand in front of her mouth, trying hard not to sob, her left hand starting to hurt from the strain of clutching onto the side of the coffin, letting the edge dig into her fingers as she fights to hold back tears and fails.

"You're— oh god, Jesse, I don't know what to say. I-I— I don't know. I know I always pretended to have all the answers, but I don't. Not— not really. You were always there to... help me, and support me, and now you're gone, and it feels like someone pulled the rug out from under me. I can't— I can't believe that you're really... _gone_." The word alone makes fresh tears bubble forth from her, and she shakes her head, tempted to blink, to look anywhere else, but terrified that he might just disappear the next second if she isn't fast enough.

"It looks j-just like you're sleeping. Peaceful. Like that time when you promised me we'd practice our duet for glee, but then you were so tired that you fell asleep in my bed instead. I was only gone for five minutes, but..." She can't do this. It's too much, and she wonders, briefly, if it's possible to die of heartbreak. "I didn't... have the heart to wake you up. So I... climbed in on the other side and pulled my arms around you. You were always the big spoon, but that one time it was me. You looked so... innocent, and vulnerable, and I just wanted to protect you. A-and now look what happened. I... I failed. I let you down, Jesse, and I'm— I'm so sorry, it— it should have been you. I should have run out of that stupid auditorium and told you that that stupid kiss was Finn's fault, and that it had always been you, that I couldn't... even think about choosing anyone else, not after everything you'd done for me."

She misses the entrance of the minister, crying too hard, only wrenched out of her grief by his hand on her shoulder as he looks at her. "... everyone else is ready."

Rachel nods numbly, knuckles gripping onto the edge of the coffin ashen by now. "Just— f-five more minutes, Father. P-please."

She can't believe she's lucky enough to have them granted to her, looking at Jesse as she shakes her head. "I never deserved the time I had with you. I don't know why I'd suddenly deserve five more minutes. Jesse, I— I'm _so _sorry."

She almost can't stop herself as she leans down to rest her forehead against the edge, crying hard enough to lose herself as her hand reaches out to grasp his. She's not supposed to touch, but she doesn't care, interlacing their fingers as she grips onto him, wishing he could _just squeeze back_.

"I never deserved you at all, you know. And... now I know that. You... you were perfect, Jesse, and I... I was _so blind_. I can't believe I let you get away. I can't believe I let this happen."

Swallowing down a hiccup, she stares down at their entwined hands for just a moment before slowly leaning down, not even thinking twice before letting her lips softly touch on his, kissing him.

By the time she pulls away, she's only crying harder. "I'd... do anything just for the chance to kiss you goodbye, Jesse. B-but I'm... I'm afraid this is the best I can do. I'm so... _so _sorry. I love you so much, a-and—" Her tears are spilling onto her chest and running down her front as she squeezes her eyes shut, desperately shaking her head. "And I fucked it up. I loved you more than anything... I can't believe it took me this long to figure it out, but you deserved so much better than me. But... but we'll be together again. Someday. I promise. I'll make you so proud, Jesse, you have my word."

Finally pulling back, Rachel lets go of Jesse's hand, already missing him, his touch, the feel of her hand in his, knowing that this is the last time she will ever see him again.

If the minister hadn't come in to remind her of the time, she wouldn't have been able to pull away, stuck by his side forever, not ready yet to let him go.

The St. James home feels as oppressive as Jesse had always described it, Rachel tugging nervously at the hem of her dress to even out any folds as she looks around. It's like a museum; cold, uninviting, seemingly uninhabited. The thought of children living here is unbelievable, and she swallows hard as she remembers that Jesse didn't have a childhood, not _really_, just growing up with performance at the tip of his tongue and a desperate urge to be noticed, wanted, loved.

The pictures lining the walls are the only real indication that _people _actually live here, guests slowly milling about the house as they sample the catered hors d'oeuvres and pretend to care about the boy showcased on the display table in the living room.

It's littered with trophies and pictures that mean absolutely nothing, cards from people who know how to write _we're sorry for your loss _and not mean a word of it.

"... Rachel, right?"

She only jumps slightly as she turns to face Andrea, her breath catching in her throat as she nods stiffly.

"It's good to meet you. Jesse... told me about you. Before..."

She doesn't have to finish the sentence to make the knot in Rachel's throat return with a vengeance.

"You... were on Vocal Adrenaline with him. Andrea Cohen."

"Yeah." She nods, slowly, not quite looking at her, watching the others moving about instead as Rachel shifts awkwardly from one foot to the next.

"Were you... close?"

It's an incredibly intrusive question to ask in the context, selfish, wanting to know for all the wrong reasons. Not because she cares, but because she needs to know if Jesse had anything, anyone else, someone other than her. If he'd... loved and touched Andrea the way he'd done with her. Needing to be _special_.

"I'd like to think that we were friends."

Friends. Friends could mean anything in this context, especially with someone as closed off as Jesse. Rachel holds her breath, lips pursed tightly as she fights back jealousy she doesn't deserve to have, jealousy that doesn't even matter anymore, not now that he's gone.

"Jesse... doesn't get close to people often. He doesn't really let alone in." She hadn't expected Andrea to add anything else, and she blinks at her for a moment, fighting back the urge to ask one too many intrusive questions. "But... you. You were different. Jesse... talked about you more than he probably should have."

The proud, triumphant feeling doesn't last long, Andrea squashing it with guilt right the next moment. More than he should have. It's true, of course, but it doesn't make the sickening sensation in her stomach any easier to bear as she nods, slowly, tempted to confess to Andrea that, had she only learned to love him sooner, he'd still be here today, as though she'd successfully, somehow, managed to kill him with heartbreak.

But she knows that the thought alone is silly, and she wraps her arms around herself, protective, letting her gaze fall to her shoes that seem too real to fit into the memories that she's been swimming in for days now.

She hardly knows where she's going when she excuses herself from the conversation, but ten minutes later finds her in his bedroom, still just as it probably was the day he left for the last time.

It's much larger than her bedroom, not that she was expecting anything else, and she wonders, briefly, if he'd have ever taken her here to share this part of himself if she'd stayed with him. If _the kiss that missed _had never come to pass.

The whole room _screams _Jesse, making her chest feel unbelievably tight as she lets her fingers run over the shelves. Even here, everything is trophies and accomplishments, and she can't help but wonder if his room isn't just as fake as the rest of him seemed at first glance.

Until she gets to his nightstand, a framed picture of the two of them sitting there so innocently, as though Jesse didn't fall asleep to heartbreak every single time he spent the night here.

But it's not all. The drawer underneath is filled with nothing but pictures of the two of them, candid Polaroids of Rachel littered amongst a small stack of paper, held together neatly by a thin ribbon.

They're letters.

It feels so much like she's intruding on something she shouldn't, but finding the stack surrounded by pictures of her makes her wonder if this doesn't act as some sort of implicit permission, as though it was always meant for her eyes only to see in the first place, and she lets the ribbon come undone as she holds her breath, taking the first letter out of its unsealed envelope. It all looks so horribly official, and she can't help but hold her breath, fingers trembling viciously as she peels open the paper.

_Dear Rachel,_

_If you're reading this, it means I've likely made the grave mistake of thinking that showing you these letters was a good idea. I_ _implore you to turn back. Nothing written in here is terribly romantic or even well-written enough to deserve your attention, but if you feel that certain that you really want to see what's in here, then I guess I can't stand in your way. I'm just warning you right now that you'll probably get bored very quickly, and if you're planning on reading all of them, then I applaud your dedication._

_I suppose this is the part where I should start waxing poetic over how much you mean to me, and how much I missed you while I was in LA. But you know I've never been all that great at giving you the epic romance you deserve, and I'm afraid that the only way I'll find the gall to offer these to you tomorrow would be to give you that disclaimer first. I was never very interesting, not until I met you and I learned to live, so these are nothing but the faltering steps of a precocious little boy who hopes that he can somehow master a craft when he's only just begun to understand it._

_I loved you from the moment I met you, even if I was too terrified of admitting to it at the time, and I hope you can forgive me for that. I hope you can forgive me for a lot of things, actually. And in trying to make things right, I decided, on a whim, to write to you. Every day. Until I find the courage in my heart to see you again. I don't deserve you, but if I did, I thought that, perhaps, a proper boyfriend would go to the proper measures to ensure his deserving forgiveness._

_More likely is that I will ultimately chicken out, and you will come to find these one day in the distant future, hidden behind the trophy cabinet we'll surely have, and wonder why you married such a complete and utter fool._

_I love you, Rachel. And I hope that I'll be man enough tomorrow to give these to you. I can't wait to see you again, even if I have to confess that I'm pissing myself in fear as we speak. You taught me how to love, and I just hope that I can bestow upon you something just as wonderful, but I know that I'll be woefully hard-pressed._

_I hope you'll forgive me, and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you._

_Jesse._

It feels like being punched in the gut, over and over again, Rachel staring dejectedly at the paper now littered with tear stains marring his perfect handwriting. A part of her wishes that he'd somehow managed to find it in him to give these to her, but at the same time, she knows that she would have never been able to appreciate them properly at the time, not like she can now.

She wishes the floor could swallow her whole, take her in and never let go, and she realizes with a heavy heart that those couple of moments beside his coffin would never be enough.

Knowing that he'd wanted to spend the rest of her life with her, that he'd been so certain that she was _it_— Rachel has never felt so completely and utterly heartbroken, and the persistent buzzing in her purse has her tempted to toss her phone out the window along with Finn for daring to interrupt this moment.

"Is someone—" The voice behind her jolts her out of her misery, and Rachel sputters for a moment, moving to sit on her knees to face Jesse's mother. "... oh. I see."

"It's— this isn't— they're _my_ letters." It's a weak defense, and she swallows hard as she shakes her head. "He— he wrote them to _me_, please, I just..."

The woman nods stiffly, raising her brows at her as she clears her throat. "The reception is over at 4pm. I'd like to request that you be finished by then."

Rachel just nods, feeling empty as she watches the door close behind her. She's tempted to lock it, but moving seems like a downright offense as she returns her attention to the letters, going through the first five or so before realizing that she'll never have enough time to spend in his room if she doesn't manage her time wisely.

So she pockets the letters, keeping them safe in her purse as she looks around the room, lost, unsure of where to look first, if anywhere at all.

The urge to look everywhere at once is overwhelming, and Rachel slowly, carefully picks herself up off the floor to look around.

Her hands run over the spines of his books with a certain reverence, wishing she'd cared enough to know these things about him before losing him. Knowing him well enough that the little ballet figurine on the shelf must have meant something for him to keep it there _hurts_, and she lets her fingers run over it for a moment before turning away with a heavy heart.

The attached bathroom is kept as meticulously neat as she would have expected from him, and she can't help but wonder if these walls, these rooms, hold any part of him within them still, wishing she had time to run her hands over every last inch to see if she could find Jesse somewhere in the crevices, even just a whisper from him.

Stepping into his closet assaults her with the smell of him, Rachel closing her eyes as she wraps her arms around her waist, staring at the wealth of shirts, jackets, pants, sweaters, shoes, as though they have to feel just as lost as she does. No more purpose behind their existence. Taking a slow step in, Rachel can hardly stop herself when she picks one of his shirts off of the shelf, burying her face in the soft fabric as she takes him in.

_Jesse_.

It feels as though he's everywhere, all around her, and it only takes her a moment to pluck her favorite sweater of his off the shelf, retreating back to the bed to lie down with it beside her, curling her body close against it as she cries into his pillow.

His bed still smells just like him, too, as though it's downright silly to think he wouldn't be coming back to it tonight, just as always, just as everyone is used to. Routine makes sense, but without Jesse there to fit the last puzzle piece into place, it feels all wrong.

"Jesse," she finally hears herself whisper, her throat feeling as tight as ever, "if you're listening, I want you to know that I _miss _you."

Rachel is unaware of the fact that she fell asleep curled his sweater, face buried in his pillow, until Mrs. St. James awakens her slightly less stiffly than what Rachel is accustomed to seeing of the woman, and she offers a brief apology before getting her things together.

With Jesse gone, there's no point in pretending that nothing has changed. The organization in the room, so desperate for some kind of reminder of normalcy is laughable, and Rachel doesn't even flinch when she plucks a few things out of their supposed place to pocket them. The little ballet figurine she'll never really know the meaning behind. Her favorite sweater. The letters, obviously. His copy of _The Little Prince_, a book he'd once confessed to her was his favorite. And his toothbrush. So she could have him spend the night with her for the rest of time.

The only thing she doesn't dare disturb is the pictures. The ones of her, in his drawer, the one of the two of them, on his nightstand.

It's exactly where it needs to be.

If Mrs. St. James notices the change as she excused herself to leave, she doesn't say anything, and Rachel can't help but be grateful.


	3. Chapter 3

That night, she reads all the letters. Some of them twice, three times, until she's sure that she's out of tears to shed, only to be assaulted by a fresh wave of them, reminding her of the man she's lost because she was too selfish and ignorant to realize what she'd held in him.

After her dads call her down for dinner, which she picks at without much interest— it's Finn's text message that finally jolts her from her tenth reread of one of the letters.

_hey rach, im starting 2 get rly worried about u. r u sure u dont want 2 talk about it?_

Another buzz.

_ily xx_

He means well. It's the only thing keeping her from tossing the phone across the room right now, surrounded by pictures of her and Jesse, letters written to her by Jesse, inane details about his day in between impassioned pleas to believe everything he wrote to her in his letters.

This isn't fair to Finn, and she knows it.

But that doesn't change how lonely she feels right now, and if nothing else, his messages, his phone calls, his prodding at her to talk to him about what's wrong during class— that feels good. Like she's still wanted by someone, at least, still desired. There's no telling how long it'll last, how long Finn will put up with it, but for now, in the midst of the letters threatening to drown her, she needs an anchor.

* * *

><p>"So I've heard you've been spending a lot of time in here lately."<p>

She doesn't expect to hear Quinn's voice in the other stall, making her jump as she angrily stares down at her feet's betrayal.

"I-I don't know why you're here, Quinn."

She hardly even recognizes her own voice, quiet, unassuming, trying to hush up the fact that she's been crying over her water cress sandwich for the last half hour of lunch.

"Because... we're kinda friends. And if I don't want to lose that, I'm going to have to keep pretending I care about you."

The slightly soft quality to her voice is a hint that she's kidding, that she really does care more than she lets on. Rachel swears she can hear a smile tucked away between her words, genuinely kind.

"I heard about what happened."

Rachel is certain she feels her heart stop, her chest tight as she puts her sandwich down, suddenly no longer hungry.

"Look, I know what it's like to lose something like that. Something you'd never even think you'd miss in the long-run, and suddenly there it is, staring you in the face, taunting you with how happy you could have been if you'd only been a little... wiser a little earlier on in life."

"But... how do you learn to move on?"

"I'm not... the best person to ask about this, because I'm honestly not sure that I'm completely over it yet, but... you can't bottle it up forever. I tried that all last year, and let me tell you, it only made things worse. I don't care who it is that you talk to about this, but you need to talk to _someone_."

There's a terse silence between them for a moment as Rachel listens to Quinn get up and unlock the door of her stall to leave.

"You— you won't tell Finn, right?"

"Why would I care about what Finn thinks?"

* * *

><p>She doesn't come out of her room much anymore— that is, if she leaves at all, instead pouring over letters and spending all her time remembering Jesse.<p>

Her fathers understand. She informs them, very quietly, one evening over dinner, and from that point forward, they stop asking her if she's okay, instead content to just let her grieve. Nevertheless— they do offer to let her take a few days off of school, which she ultimately turns down, not wanting to hold up her life completely in the face of Jesse's passing.

She's grateful, of course. After a few days of having everyone stare at her and ask her what's the matter during every single period, it grows to be a lot less exhilarating than it seemed at first, and reveling in attention because of the emotional wreck Jesse's death has turned her into feels... wrong, somehow. He deserves better than that, and by the time a week passes her by, she starts snapping at people to leave it alone already.

Finn especially.

She hasn't spoken to him in a good four days by now aside from the obligatory _no, Finn, I don't want to talk about it,_ and _yes, Finn, I'm fine_. A part of her— the part that knows that it only took so long for people to find out Quinn's big secret during their Sophomore year— wants to come up with some other stupid reason for being this depressed, before Finn finds out about Jesse.

But in the end, she doesn't.

Finn, the boy who _should_ have been her lifeboat in the hurricane that is losing Jesse, _isn't_, and Rachel feels lost at sea in the midst of a tidal wave.

Their relationship won't make it through this, not that she even wants it to. The thought of touching anyone but Jesse, even just thinking of anyone but him feels... wrong. Deceitful.

It's that Saturday that her dads are out at a flea market, Rachel volunteering to stay home and wash the dishes, housework the only real distraction she can count on anymore. She doesn't even dare accompany the work with music, every single song bringing up thoughts of Jesse.

The dishes are plenty wet enough already, they hardly need her tears to aid the cause.

The sudden dialing sound from her phone has her cursing herself, realizing that her pocket most likely called someone by mistake from all the moving around the dishes have had her doing.

Scrambling to dry off her hands on the towel beside her, the phone is not two seconds from her ear as she realizes her mistake, Jesse's voicemail picking up for him, a choked sob suddenly trapped in her throat.

_You have reached the voicemail of Jesse St. James. If this is one of my students, what are you doing calling me? Don't you have a routine to practice? Anyone else, leave a message after the beep and I might get back to you if I have time. _

Squeezing her eyes shut, she feels her body slide to floor, more collapsing than anything else, Jesse's voice filling her head, her emotions proving traitor to her thoughts.  
>She's about to hang up when she hears his voice again, clamping down painfully on her finger, teeth digging into her knuckle to keep from sobbing, to keep from missing even a single word of his.<p>

_... if this is Rachel... please leave a message? And I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Promise._

"I miss you _so _much," she whispers to the empty kitchen, helplessly shaking her head as though anyone but her heart were listening, as though Jesse's voicemail could actually hear her, could talk back.

That night, she listens to his message over and over, until her eyes are red and puffy and she's certain she can't cry anymore, that there aren't enough tears left in her body to keep going.

* * *

><p><em>"I miss you," she softly whispers, reaching out to hold his hand, and coming up empty. "Do you miss me at all?"<em>

_"I never stopped."_

_Rachel squeezes her eyes shut as she reaches out to him again, but every time she comes too close, the mirage disappears, and she starts crying harder again._

_"I don't even know what to do with myself anymore without you here."_

_Another swipe at air, and he slowly backs away from her._

_"Please! Please, I just want to hold you one last time!"_

_He just shakes his head, looking a little sad. "I'm not real, Rachel. Not anymore. I'm just part of your imagination, and this is nothing but a dream"_

_"No! Please— please, I'd give anything! I was so wrong, and so stupid— when you made a mistake, I forgave you! Why can't I be forgiven of mine?"_

_"I do," he whispers softly, a gentle touch of air reaching out to caress her cheek. "Forgive you."_

* * *

><p>When, just over a week after the funeral, Finn decides to call and ask her if she was ever planning on hanging out with him again, she agrees with a strained sigh, insisting that she go over to his place instead of the other way around.<p>

Hiding Jesse's things isn't something she feels even remotely capable of, even if she feels guiltier with every passing day over where her attention is focused. Going over to Finn's place to spend time with him there seems like the ideal compromise, and her own personal reminder to herself that she could really use the comfort of another human being who is still alive— as opposed to Jesse's letters, his voice, haunted whispered words and memories that keep replaying for her— solidifies her resolve.

Pulling into his driveway, Rachel can't stop her hands from shaking as she holds onto the steering wheel, her heart in her throat.

He's expecting her, and Rachel has never liked being late, so after ten or so minutes of staring helplessly at her car's dashboard and feeling herself tear up all over again as she remembers the cause of Jesse's death, she finally unbuckles her seatbelt and clambers out into the cool autumn air. It's just chilly enough that the light jacket she has over her dress isn't quite enough, and she hurries up the stairs to the front door with a soft shiver, Finn opening the door before she even gets there.

"What were you doing waiting out in your car for? I've been waiting for like, ten minutes for you to come in."

Swallowing hard, she shakes her head, moving to sit somewhat awkwardly on the living room couch. "Where... is everyone?"

"... out. I thought it'd just be like... you know. The two of us, or something. It's... kind of been a while, you know?"

It's been thirteen days and two hours, but Rachel doesn't say anything, biting her lip as she lightly shrugs. She expected there to be Kurt and Carole and Burt around to buffer her here, but she resigns herself with a sigh, nodding slowly. "Okay."

He can't fix this, doesn't even know what's wrong with this person that used to be his girlfriend.

"I mean... yeah. We— we can have sex."

They've only been doing this since summer. Finn thinks he took her virginity, and Rachel doesn't care to correct him, especially not now, what with Jesse on her mind what feels like 24/7.

It's not something she particularly wants to do or has even felt like doing for the past few weeks, sex with Finn, sex at all. But she _is _his girlfriend, a bitter reminder of the responsibilities she's been neglecting for too long now. He's bound to feel lonely without her, and she feels bad.

She's lonely, too.

"I mean, we can just spend time together, too, it doesn't have to automatically be... sex."

It's sweet, but his tone belies how much he does want her again in that way, and Rachel shakes her head, wondering if this is what she needs, if anything can get her mind off of Jesse.

Sex with Finn has never been particularly _passionate_. It's not something she especially minds, it's just something she has come to accept over time as taken for granted, and it's okay. Sometimes it's even sweet, though tonight she doesn't let that happen, _can't_.

He pulls off her dress, letting her get rid of her bra as he drags her panties down just before undressing himself as she lies back for him.

When she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine it's Jesse.

She fakes her way through an orgasm, the necessary motions and noises, and never does come, realizing too quickly that closing her eyes means seeing Jesse, and seeing Jesse means crying. She doesn't need Finn asking too many questions, so she keeps her eyes focused on his ceiling as she pretends to whimper and pant like the good actress she is.

He even believes the act, and Rachel feels disgusted with herself.

When she finally does leave— right after he finishes, despite his pleas for her to spend the night, for her to let him hold her for a bit— she feels sick.

She cries the whole way home, cursing herself for being weak enough to go over to Finn's, for giving in to her loneliness, needing some kind of comfort, inevitably leading him on further when he doesn't deserve it at all.

By the time she locks the door to her bedroom, she doesn't feel any better. Everything seems hollow, meaningless, and the scalding hot spray of her shower, a desperate effort to scratch and tear Finn off of her skin, doesn't help.

Scrubbing desperately through three layers of soap and only crying harder through each one has her body tinged an angry shade of red when trembling feet find the cold tile floor outside of her shower again, and the sight of herself in the mirror has her feeling even more ashamed than she felt before.

Everything hurts, most of all Jesse's memory, thudding impossibly loudly in her soul.

"Why can't I forget you?" she whispers into her pillow that night through a fresh haze of tears, hating herself a little bit more with each sob that wracks her body.

* * *

><p>There are a couple of things Rachel hasn't dared to touch yet— the mixtape for her that she found among the letters for her in his drawer, the video file still hidden away in her iTunes, and one particular letter of his that she stopped reading two sentences in.<p>

He's everything. Not a single part of her life has gone untouched by his memory, and she realizing she can't escape no matter how hard she tries, somehow makes it easier.

Tonight, it's the letter.

Her _Jesse _playlist hums along in the background, and she slowly unfolds the carefully re-sealed letter, biting her lip as she lifts it to her face, closing her eyes as she inhales him, slow and sweet.

It still smells like him, and the tears pricking at her eyes make her wonder if it's possible to drown in the memories of a person, in love with a ghost.

_Rachel,_

_I miss you. Your skin, the way your hair feels in my hands, your hands, the way you used to touch me when you knew exactly what you were doing..._

_Remember the night we climbed on top of your roof? Blankets, pillows, and nothing else but each other? The way you let me turn you into a constellation of my very own making, my mouth marking you over and over?_

_You were so perfect that night._

_Some days even getting off feels like cheating when I think about how much more incredible it is when I get to have you under me. No one would have ever thought how greedy your tiny little hands can be when they know what they're going after._

_I always think about you. You've even ruined porn for me— they're all so different from you, and then I close my eyes, and suddenly, all I want to think about is you._

_Your perfect little breasts, the way you giggle when I pinch your nipples too lightly, and moan when I do it just right. Your mouth falls open in this beautiful, perfect 'O', and it's all I can do not to call you up right then and there and remind you where you belong._

_You have no idea what I'd do to come there and ravish you on the spot, no matter who is around and watching. My hands running down your front until you're squirming, getting you out of that blouse that cuts just barely too low for me not to be distracted from thinking about you all day, sucking one of your pert little nipples into my mouth while my hand slips into your pants or under one of those short skirts... into your panties... driving you crazy while I draw circles on your clit until you beg me for more._

_God, baby, I'm so hard for you._

_(See? Didn't I tell you not to read these?)_

_I want to go down on you again, fuck you with my tongue and my fingers while I watch your face as you come for me, over and over again. There isn't anything more beautiful than watching you come. Nothing._

_This is a bit more... uncouth, I suppose, but god, I miss making love to you, too. There's this... incredible look on your face that you get when you lose yourself in the feeling, right before you're about to come and make me follow you that I can't help but stare._

_You're so beautiful._

_You have this gorgeous little freckle on your butt. Did you know that? If you kind of tilt your head and squint it looks a little bit like a star. I miss the nights that I got to do nothing but worship you. Your skin, your lips, every damn inch of your face._

_God, Rachel._

_If I ever get you back (and I will, just watch me) I'm going to take a whole week off just to make sure every single inch of you is worshiped like you deserve. Every single last one. Or die trying._

_I promise you, if you'll ever let me be yours again, there won't be a day in your life that I don't remind you of how much I love you, and how beautiful you are, and how lucky I am._

_This is the kind of love they write about in musicals, Rachel. I'd know. I've been in my fair share. The kind of love that aches in your gut, that makes you want to tear your heart out of your chest if only it'll mean the pain will stop, if only I could see your perfect face again._

_I'm probably boring you. My roommate is due to get back pretty soon, so I'm going to take my recording of you singing "Don't Rain on My Parade" into bed and think about you for a bit longer while I still have some privacy._

_All my love,_

_Jesse._

She's crying by the time she reaches the end, clamping down on her lip too hard as she tears at her hair with one hand, needing to feel _something_ other than _Jesse _and coming up empty.

"I love you, too," she whispers to the empty room as tears stream down her face, a few drops raining down onto the parchment of his letter. "And I miss you so much more than I can possibly ever hope to say."


	4. Chapter 4

_I know some of you have been wondering how this story is rated M, but this chapter is your answer. We're almost to the end of the road, kids. One more chapter after this, and we're done. Don't forget the tissues/privacy! _

* * *

><p>Every time her phone rings, Rachel's heart skips a beat, her mind reminding her too late that it can't be Jesse calling her.<p>

She doesn't recognize the number, and false hope has her answering, closing her eyes as she waits, praying to hear his voice on the other end.

She listened to his voice mail message over and over until— presumably— the battery finally died or his family threw his phone out, and there are some nights that she knows she would do anything to hear him talk to her.

Today, however, a female voice answers her shaky _hello?_, and Rachel's breath catches in her throat as recognition washes over her.

"M-Mrs. St. James."

"Yes— you were at my son's funeral, yes? I believe there's something here that belongs to you, if you'd like to pick it up. And— please do tell your parents that your number is absolutely impossible to find in the phone book? I had to look through Jesse's things to even get a hold of it, which, as I'm sure you can imagine, I'm not all that fond of doing these days."

"I-I'm sorry. Um—" It's all too much at once, and Rachel swallows hard as she closes her eyes. "Can I— wh-when would be convenient for me to drop by?"

* * *

><p>They agree on four o'clock that afternoon to give Rachel enough time to drive out to Akron. It's a Sunday, the first day without rain in a while, the roads mostly clear on her drive.<p>

She does her best not to cry, not wanting Mrs. St. James to see it on her face and in her eyes, and so she drives in silence, not daring to risk listening to her iPod lest she loses it again. All it takes is a second, one musical note, one single memory of him.

She makes it, just barely, parking her car outside their drive. Anything else feels too close, too intimate to Jesse's past, a part of his life that she was never let into, and supposedly with good reason.

A part of her, she knows, could use the air, Rachel reminding herself as the cold stings in her lungs with her slow walk up the circular driveway. Her arms wrap snugly around her torso to keep her coat close and her surroundings out, and finally, slowing down no longer has any use, her feet shuffling awkwardly in front of the large door.

She hates this place.

She's only been here twice, but she already knows from those few glimpses alone— this is the face Jesse put on for the outside world, not the Jesse she got to see.

Slowly raising her hand to ring at the doorbell, Rachel holds her breath, goosebumps littering her arms despite her coat and gloves. Heels clack rhythmically on the parquet inside, and she can't help but stare at her feet, the door creaking open a second later.

"Oh, you're on time." There's a small pause as Rachel lifts her gaze to look at the older woman, seeing a flicker of herself in her eyes. It's just for a split second, and she promptly straightens again, her expression neutralizing once more as she reaches for a small box on a stand beside the door.

But she did see a brief glimpse of herself in there, no matter how slight it might have been.

_Regret._

"Here. The maid came across it and said your name was on the letter inside." She gives a curt nod, and Rachel takes her cue to nod her acknowledgment as she takes a slow step back.

"Thanks. I mean... I, um... really appreciate you calling me and letting me know."

Rachel tries not to think too hard about the fact that this woman would have been her mother-in-law if things had just gone a little differently as the door closes in front of her, and she slowly glances down at the box in her hands as she makes the walk back to her car.

If anything, it feels longer this time, and she casts one last glance back at the St. James estate before exiting the grounds, suddenly realizing that her legs are trembling as they carry her to her car.

The box doesn't look like much from the outside with the lone exception of the _JSJ _inscription in one corner, and she slowly unlatches the lid to open it.

All that's inside is a small envelope, her name written neatly on one side in what is clearly Jesse's handwriting.

Carefully letting her fingernail slip underneath the paper to tear as gently as she can manage, she tugs out a small piece of paper.

_Rachel,_

_If you find this, do your boyfriend a favor and pretend you didn't. I promise you'll regret it if you pry..._

_All my love,_

_Jesse._

The slightly sad smile on her face slowly fades as she looks more closely. The box looks too shallow judging from the outside, and it doesn't take her another minute to figure out the mechanism to remove the makeshift bottom.

She can't stop the gasp that falls from her lips, her head falling back against the headrest behind her as her eyes close.

Tears have become her closest friend ever since she found out, and now is no different, raw sobs shaking her as her hand moves to cover her mouth, wishing she had some way to trap the painfully aching emotions inside for once.

The engagement ring is beautiful, easily the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

* * *

><p>Four hours to Akron, an hour to cry in her car, and another four hours back home have her late for dinner that night, not that her dads bother asking for her to be there anymore.<p>

If they notice the ring on her finger, they don't remark on it, and they let her slip upstairs easily after just a handful of questions— where did you go? are you sure you're okay? you know we're here for you, right?

"Hey Rach, what's going on?" Finn's voice sounds too light-hearted for what she's about to do, and before she can even answer, she's already crying.

"I-I can't do this anymore, Finn."

Her voice sounds clouded enough with tears that she worries for a second that he won't be able to understand her, but the silence inevitably gives him away.

"What? Rach, no—"

"Finn, _listen to me_, please, I'm— I'm _begging _you, I-I can't."

"Is this because of that thing you haven't been telling me? Rach— please! We can work this out! Don't give up on us like this! _Please_!"

It hurts enough as it is. Finn's voice is so full of hope that she wants to tear her heart out, and it's all she can do not to hang up on him.

"Don't ask me why, Finn," she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. "Please, please don't."

"Don't you think I deserve to know why you're breaking up with me? Rachel, _please_, you're the most important thing in my life. I love you!"

She's quiet for a long moment. When she finally opens her eyes, her gaze inevitably falls on the ring on her finger, the whole future Jesse had planned out for them that she threw in his face, the fact that he was completely sure, _completely_— that she was _it_.

"... but I don't love you enough."

* * *

><p>"... look, Rachel. I understood your need to take some time off from competing, but this isn't like you. Now, we did Sectionals just fine even without your help, but we could really use your talent during Regionals. We're up against Dalton, and I just don't think the others are strong enough to beat them without you."<p>

Rachel feels like she's in a zoo, on exhibit, and she shifts uncomfortably in the seat opposite her show choir director, holding her breath as she keeps her gaze awkwardly fixed at the edge of the desk, where the rubber has just started to peel off.

"I-I really don't think I'm... ready for that."

"Rachel..." he sighs, getting up to sit at the edge of the desk in front of her. She's supposed to look up at him with big, wide, bright eyes, eager to absorb all the adult-like wisdom he has to offer, she knows, but she can't. It all feels so much like an act, and she hasn't felt much like pretending for a while. "It's been over a month... don't you think it's time to move on?" He's quiet for a moment, watching her face as Rachel's fist clenches in her lap. "Don't you think Jesse would want you to look forward, instead of backward?"

Rachel swallows hard as she slowly gets up to walk to the door and meets his gaze, as coolly as she can still manage. "... I think Jesse would want me to follow the advice of someone who is not quite so obviously biased towards his own goals."

"Rachel—!"

She doesn't bother going to glee that day.

* * *

><p>The next day she does, it's a mistake.<p>

Kurt doesn't mean for it to happen. It's her fault, really, letting it go on unsaid for this long, too scared to give Finn the truth, and even if Kurt insists on apologizing endlessly for letting it slip, she knows the only truly guilty party is she.

So when Finn storms in looking lethal, she already knows what to expect.

"You— how _could _you? How could you keep that from me!"

All eyes are on her, but she doesn't respond, her gaze falling into her lap, her fingers touching on the ring around her neck for some semblance of comfort in the midst of this assault.

Her heart hurts.

"You don't even have anything to say to me? Nothing?"

"Finn, I don't think Rachel needs this right now—"

"No, you know what! I want to know, why it's _always_ me who doesn't know about this crap! It's like everyone's been talking about this for _weeks_ behind my stupid back and I'm sitting here like an idiot thinking my girlfriend still loves me when she's pining for some _dead _guy!"

"Finn, please—" Rachel can't stop herself from crying. She wonders if this is what it feels like, wanting to sink into the floor and disappear as a chair clatters angrily onto the floor.

"No! You don't get to do this to me anymore! I can't believe this keeps fucking happening! What, were you fucking _him _behind my back, too, to get back at me for something else I did when I was ten, or something?"

She can hear Puck shift closer just behind her, and for once, she can't even blame him.

"Finn!" Kurt finally shouts, clambering out of his seat to try and grab hold of his step-brother, not that it does much good, what with Finn yanking himself free with a glare.

"Finn, I didn't cheat on you with him!" her voice is hoarse from crying as she gets up to go after him, shaking off Puck's attempt to hold her back.

"Oh yeah?" Finn grabs hold of the chain around her neck as her eyes go wide, slowly shaking her head. "What's this, then, did he give you _this_, too?"

"No, Finn, don't!"

One second, the chain tears, Rachel feeling the miserable, sharp tug digging into her neck before something _snaps_.

The next second, holding back seems impossible, tears bubbling forth as she starts to sob, raucous and desperate, wishing this could have happened anywhere but here.

She only barely catches the next few events through her tears, Finn stumbling back a bit, shoving the ring at a horrified-looking Kurt, storming out. At one point, Rachel crumbles down onto the floor, crying too hard to hear anything around her, the efforts of her so-called friends to try and console her.

Kurt hands her back the ring at one point, and she doesn't even hesitate to slip it onto her finger where it belongs, feeling far more ashamed of herself than she does Finn.

It's a strange parallel— she's not surprised when Quinn later finds her again in the choir room, the two of them just sitting quietly, the pad of Rachel's thumb refusing to leave the ring alone even for a second, terrified it might disappear if she doesn't watch it closely enough.

Just before getting up to go, Quinn sighs, slowly nodding at Rachel.

"I get it."

* * *

><p>And when she goes to temple that night, there's someone else that gets it.<p>

The whole school knows now, not that it matters so much anymore.

"There isn't really anything you could have done differently," Puck tells her after the service as she wipes absently at her eyes, staring down at her feet, nodding. "I think you did the right thing, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

Rachel looks up at him, slowly shaking her head. "No. It does."

"Jesse was a good guy," he says quietly, comforting hand on her shoulder, and she has to fight to hold her tears back as he leaves to join his mother and sister again.

* * *

><p>"Oh my god!" Rachel hears herself laugh, loud, genuine, and completely foreign to her own ears by now, for the first time, in a long time. "I can't believe you're filming this!"<p>

"Surprise," Jesse chuckles softly, adjusting the camera angle a bit to keep her from grabbing the camera away from him, tilting it towards his face as he grins. "I can't have my beautiful girlfriend's face go unappreciated, right?"

"Jesse!" Rachel whines from outside the video frame, before Jesse waves her over, trying— and mostly failing, their chins cut off slightly— to film both of them at once.

"See? Two _unbelievably_ sexy people. If we ever reproduce, the world is going to have to watch out..." He grins, turning his attention towards her as the camera wavers a bit, Rachel still putting on a bright showface smile for the video. "But you know, I'm pretty sure _I'm _the lucky one here."

He softly kisses her cheek before— Rachel remembers, though it's not visible in the video— patting her ass and moving to place the camera between two tree branches, fixing the angle of the video a bit.

"You never did tell me why you're doing this," she grins as he walks back over to her, easily gathering her up into his arms, her legs around his waist to let him spin her more easily.

"Well," he beams, face flushing a bit from happiness and excitement, "LA is kind of far away... and I'm going to want every single reminder of just how beautiful and incredible my girlfriend is while I'm there, waiting for you to visit me."

"We can always skype, you know," she laughs as he ducks his head to kiss her chest, repositioning her on his hips a bit.

"Not the same."

On the other end of the video, Rachel can't stop herself from crying. Jesse alone is worth the tears, but to realize what the reason behind this video was in the first place— knowing they wouldn't be talking endlessly on the phone, wouldn't be having long skype sessions between the two of them— is enough to break her heart.

One of the lines from one of his letters echoes harshly in her head, and she has to fight not to close her eyes to make sure she keeps watching every single second of him.

_I wish I'd just kept you._

She's about to reach to turn the video off when it promptly transitions, Rachel on her side on the bed as she giggles about him fiddling with the camera positioning on her desk.

"Well? Aren't you coming...?"

"Almost," he breathes softly through his concentration on adjusting the focus of the camera _just _right.

"I still can't believe you talked me into doing this."

Realization hits her square in the chest, and she pulls her knees up under her chin, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she presses her lips together, tears getting the better of her again.

She forgot this was on here, too, that he'd just sent her the whole thing in one file, resulting in a terrible joke about how they'd never be able to show this video to their kids (Lillian Grace for a girl, Benjamin Nathaniel for a boy).

Now it just feels like the world is playing some sick joke on her

"It's not like anyone but us is ever going to see..." he mutters, finally joining her on the bed as he moves to hover over her.

They didn't have sex the first time after the carebear incident when she'd claimed she was ready, and Jesse didn't push anymore after she'd said no. It was Rachel who decided to come to him, asking him if he didn't want her anymore, because if one thing was true— she certainly wanted him.

It had really been epic romance.

The whole weekend to themselves, Jesse had set up candles, wine, music— from her iTunes, to make up for the mixtape he'd forgotten at his house. She'd never felt so loved.

Seeing herself look as happy as she does, too, watching the video, Rachel can't stop the tears, isn't even trying anymore, her chin resting uneasily on her knee as she bites her lip.

"Mmm, god, you're so beautiful," he mutters as he kisses a slow trail down her neck, his hands coming up to undo the buttons of her blouse. "You do realize," he whispers against her skin, looking up at her through hooded eyes as she squirms under him, "that I don't deserve you one bit."

"I think you're insane," Rachel laughs, her hands running into his hair as he pulls open her shirt, reaching behind her to undo her bra.

"Here, sit up, I need to worship my goddess _properly_," he chuckles softly, tugging her blouse off of her as she wiggles her shoulders, the straps of her bra sliding down her arms and letting both articles land on the floor, Jesse urging her to lay back down again, his hand on her breast, mouth softly sucking on her pert nipple.

"_So _perfect," he mutters, greedily taking more of her breast into his mouth as his tongue laves against her skin.

"Jesse..." she whimpers, "would you stop teasing?"

"No," he chuckles softly, glancing up at her with a grin as he slips his hand under her skirt to tease through her panties, "I'm determined to take my time with this."

And he does. By the time he gets his mouth down to her abdomen, Rachel is a quivering mess, and he kisses, sucks, and licks his way up the inside of her thigh far, far too slowly, determined to tease. Flipping her skirt up, he finally drags her panties down, miserably slow.

"Jesse, please!"

"Mmm, as the lady requests," he breathes softly, letting his fingers tease at her folds before softly pressing inside of her, his mouth starting to slowly lap at her clit as he keeps her legs spread to him.

Rachel is lost in a series of moans and whimpers, her hands tangled horribly tightly in the pillow behind her, her back arched perfectly up against his mouth's assault.

"Jesse—!"

"It's okay, baby, come for me."

Her whole body tenses suddenly for a long moment, her head pressing back, incoherent noises taking hold of her as she whines, loud and desperate, Jesse getting up and repositioning himself.

He was shirtless to start with, but he kicks off his jeans easily before settling between her legs, leaning down to kiss her, hard. "God, baby, want you so much—"

Rachel nods with a whimper, still out of breath from her orgasm, and he softly kisses a trail up her neck and to just under her ear.

"Ready for me?"

"Please, Jesse!"

A slow exhale gives way to his pushing inside of her, Rachel gasping as she clings to him. He always waited for her to adjust to his size before starting to move, but she knows she's too lost in the feeling here to care, tears still streaming down her face as she watches him make love to her, nothing but gasps and whimpers and _I love you_s falling from their lips.

He waits for her to come first, his fingers working at her clit to make her clench around him again— this time his cock instead of his fingers— and when he follows her, the look of absolute peace and happiness on his face is overwhelming, just before he settles his arms around her and pulls her in close, littering kisses over her face.

"Jesse," she hears herself whisper through a haze of tears, her hands reaching out to touch on the screen, wishing she could hold him, touch him one last time as she finds the ring on her finger once again.

The video ends too soon, leaving out the extensive cuddling that inevitably followed their sex, and Rachel's hands around her torso aren't enough to hold her, aren't enough to make up for the fact that Jesse is gone and won't ever be able to hold her again.


	5. Chapter 5

_Last part, this one's pretty short. Remember tissues! And then when you're done reading this, go read Cris' and my joint project over on her page, "See if I Can Sleep"! _

* * *

><p>She's been missing him for two months now, and still, the sight of his grave seems unbelievable to her, her chest feeling tighter than it should.<p>

_Jesse St. James  
><em>February 15th, 1991 - November 19th, 2011<br>__

Her hand runs over the inscription as she feels tears get the better of her, and she lays down the blanket that she brought to sit on, setting the flowers down.

"You, um... you always got me crocuses, so I thought, maybe... this time it's my turn to bring some to you. A-and since blue was always your favorite color—"

She's already crying harder than she planned on, and she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, hard enough to see stars as she sobs, her forehead coming to rest on the granite of his headstone his family didn't even take the time to engrave specially.

"God, Jesse, I don't know what to do. I-I made a mistake, the biggest mistake of my life, and— and I can't believe you're gone, and you're never coming back. I know it's been a while, but I just—"

Burying her face in her hands, she shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I _miss _you. Every second. Of every minute. Of every hour. Of every day. _Jesse_—"

Taking a shaky breath, trembling fingers trace the inscription on the headstone with his name, biting her lip as she fights to keep her emotions under control.

"You were my soulmate. And I messed it up. And there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think that maybe if I had just done something differently, and been less stupid, that maybe you would still be here today."

Closing her eyes with her exhale, her hands run gently over the grass beneath her, wishing she could hold him, touch him, feel him one last time.

"I-I got my NYADA letter in the mail the other day. I— um. I got in." She laughs a bit hollowly, her teeth dragging over her lip as she wipes at her eyes. "I'm going. To New York. And it won't ever be the same without you, but god, Jesse— I want you to be proud of me. I want you to look down from wherever you are and _know _that you didn't pick the wrong girl to marry. That... when you love something, you gotta go for it."

Hot tears fall to the blanket beneath her, and she starts sobbing again.

She stays by his grave until dusk, the encroaching darkness a careful reminder that she still has to drive home and can't stay here forever, curled up on top of the blanket over his grave to somehow be close to him.

The drive home, she listens to his mixtape, and by the time she reaches Lima, she almost can't see out of her eyes anymore, they're so puffy and swollen from crying.

* * *

><p>"I'm... I'm going to live for him," Rachel tells Quinn one day after a long silence of them sitting side by side on the bleachers. Quinn got here first, but Rachel knows she doesn't mind the intrusion. "I... I think it's what he'd want me to do."<p>

"Schue's still pissed about Regionals, you know."

Rachel slowly shrugs. "I know. But... I shouldn't be a whole team. You guys should be able to win without me."

"I think you're right," she says slowly. "About Jesse, I mean. I think he'd want you to be happy."

"Do you miss her?" Rachel whispers, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist.

"Every day."

* * *

><p><em>Ten Years Later<em>

"I'm just... so honored to be accepting this. I've wanted this since I was old enough to know what a Tony was, and—" she beams out at the audience through tear-stained eyes. "I want to thank my director, and the writers, and the entire cast and crew for making this show possible, and— most importantly, my late fiancé for always, always believing in me. I could have never done this without knowing you were watching over me, Jesse. Thank you, thank you, thank you _so _much, from the bottom of my heart."

The applause is loud and raucous, and Rachel barely keeps her tears in through the rest of the show. Her Tony Award— _Best Leading Actress in a Musical_— gleams brightly before her, and she wonders if heaven doesn't feel like this, if Jesse isn't watching over her right now, and smiling.

By the time she gets home, it's almost midnight, slipping inside her apartment quietly as she places her keys and her— surprisingly heavy— award down as gently as possible.

"Mommy!"

The cute little voice bounding up to her has her beaming as she leans down to pick her adopted daughter up, despite the stern voice in the back of her mind reminding her that it's way too late for a four-year-old to still be up.

Jody, her sitter, follows closely behind with a sigh as Rachel rocks Lily gently on her hip.

"Did everything go okay?"

"She... insisted on staying up for you to get home. There was... absolutely nothing I could do, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she smiles, running a soft hand over Lily's cheek, her face tucked happily into the crook of her mother's neck, sleep coming over her quickly now that she's finally home. "Everything else go all right?"

"Yeah— we watched the Awards together, so Lily already knows—"

"Mommy won!" she announces proudly, Rachel beaming as she nods to Jody, who slips out quietly with a smile and a _congratulations_.

"Yes, Lils, mommy won," she beams, hoisting her up a little higher on her arm. "You're starting to get a little big for all this carrying around, don't you think?"

"No..."

Her nursery is easy enough to find, what with the star on the door, and the black and gold plating underneath, the words _Lillian Grace St. James _neatly inscribed.

"Mommy," Lily says softly as Rachel gently lays her down into the little bed and tucks her in, "I think daddy is proud of you."

For a moment, Rachel forgets to breathe, eyes wide as she stares down at her— no, _their_— daughter, slowly nodding as she reaches out to cup her cheek, blinking away tears.

"Yeah, baby. I think daddy is proud of me, too."

* * *

><p><em>And because I just know I'm going to get a million questions about this— yes, Rachel adopted Lily to be "their" daughter; she didn't magically have a kid with someone else.<em>


End file.
